What If
by loki-dokey
Summary: What if it hadn't been Sam and Dean in the first place. What if nothing had ever happened? Life would have been normal. That's what.


**Wednesday, November 3rd**

**1983**

"Morning!" John Winchester announces in a gruff, sleep-ridden voice to the kitchen and its residents - one of which is darting around preparing breakfast. "Morning," John says again against her cheek as he kisses it gently. She smiles but doesn't take her eyes off of the fizzling bacon in the pan, and quickly flips an egg onto some toast.

"Good morning, sweet heart," she chimes back in a exasperated voice. "Can you fill Dean's cereal bowl with milk? And pop Sammy's milk in the microwave? Sorry, I would do it but I'm just making yours and - oh crap, I've just got toast on the floor."

John chuckles as he reaches into the fridge. After getting the milk he stands behind his wife and kisses her neck, before handing her the milk and playfully bumping her out of the way to continue the cooking himself.

"Excuse me -" she starts in protest, but he swipes a finger through the splodge of ketchup already on his plate and then presses it to her lips.

"You go sort out the boys. That's at least somewhat less strenuous than all these spitting monsters on the stove."

"Ugh, did you have to do that with the ketchup? John I - look, you're burning your egg!"

"Maybe I _like_my eggs burnt?" he hisses back with a giggle. He shoves the milk carton into her hands and kisses her on the lips, savouring the ketchup taste. "Now look, Dean's face is like that depressed monkey we saw at the zoo the other day."

"Okay! Alright! Goodness, John." But she chortles as she walks over to the table where her two sons are sitting - one on a chair and one in a high chair. "Dean, careful...there." His bowl of frosted flakes floats above the milk his mother has just poured in. "Eat up quickly! School today."

"And then that baseball game after school!" John pipes up over the crackle of bacon. "Are you ready, champ?"

"Hells yeah!" Dean woots, banging his small fist on the table in excitement. "Totally gonna gank those suckers!"

"John, your son is beginning to talk like you," Mary grumbles as she moves over to the microwave to prepare Sam's milk.

"Like father like son, eh?"

"Well, let's just hope he doesn't grow that pot-belly of yours."

"Oi, woman! Watch your tongue!" John holds out the spatula at her warningly. They laugh together and John goes back to cooking. Eventually all four of the Winchesters sit around the oak table, eating their breakfast in a comfortable silence. Mary concentrates mostly on Sam, feeding him his porridge and milk and not noticing her own food is going cold, and Dean chomps away at his cereal like it's his last meal on Earth.

John flicks over the newspaper.

"Oh god," he gasps at the front page.

Mary looks over from Sam. "What is it?"

"There was a fire a couple of blocks away last night. Huge. The wife died in the blaze, but the husband and his two boys got out alive. Poor family. How terrible is that?"

"How didn't we know about this? They aren't anyone we know, are they?"

"No. I don't think so. I'll bet everyone will be talking about it at the school today."

"Speaking of which...Dean! Go clean your teeth and get your jacket. Be ready in five minutes!" Mary orders. "Quick march!" She is up from her chair and ushering her eldest son out of the kitchen, and her hands poke at his sides, sending him squealing up the stairs away from her.

When Mary re-enters the kitchen, John is tucking the newspaper under his arm and shrugging on his parka.

"I'm gonna take the paper with me. I'll read it on my lunch break."

Mary hands John his sandwiches and kisses him.

"Have a good day at work, honey," she smiles.

"Oh I'm sure it'll be _thrilling_." He walks out into the hallway. "DEAN WINCHESTER, GET YOUR TINY BUTT DOWN HERE! I WILL LEAVE WITHOUT YOUR SORRY ASS IF YOU AREN'T DOWN IN TEN...NINE...EIGHT...SEVEN..."

"I'M COMING I'M COMING!" Dean cries as he thunders down the stairs in a blur, and dashes out of the front door.

John grins and shouts a "BYE!" back into the house before closing the door behind him. Dean is already settled into his usual shot gun position in the Impala.

"Can we listen to Def Leppard this time dad? Can we? Can we?"

John has barely gotten into the car.

"Hey! Hey squirt, what do I always say?"

Dean cocks his head to one side, looking confused.

"...Driver Dad shuts his pie hole becauuuuuuse...?"

"SHOT GUN DEAN ALWAYS PICKS THE MUSIC!" Dean exclaims proudly as he roots around the tape box.

"And why is that?"

"Because Shot Gun Dean knows all the best music."

"And why is _that?"_

"Because Driver Dad taught him what the best music is."

"That's my boy," John chuckles, and he ruffles Dean's hair. "Now turn that stereo up and roll those windows down. Let's wake up this neighbourhood."

Dean obeys and grins as he sings along to the music pouring from the speakers. The Impala pulls away from the drive and Mary Winchester watches from the window, holding Sam and waving his small hand for him.

"Bye Daddy, bye Dean!" she cooes. The curtains fall closed, and another normal day in the Winchester house has begun.


End file.
